Through the eyes of others

Back tracking a bit. A long post. But worth it.

On Monday, I jumped in the car and headed over to Madison to check out the Half Price Books stores and their weekend sales. I got there early and by noon was really ready to leave.

I didn't find much in any of the stores I visited. I was tired. My mind was wandering. I was shaky from not eating. I wasn't enjoying myself. So I decided to skip State Street and the East Side. I was going home to sleep. Then I got on a road I hadn't really wanted to take and blamed it on the GPS Gangsta-Thieves who left me high and dry.

I ended up downtown anyway, crossed State on Johnson and decided to pull into the parking garage. Whatever. I had time. I walked to State. Took a left. Some stores were open. Some not. Whatever. Walked past a few store fronts. Kooky bling catches my eye: make your own button $1. Sure. Whatever. I can do that.

I walk into this store. Anthology. And then I'm home.

Every inch of this beautiful little shop breathes what I feel, shows how I think, speaks to my creativity. Gorgeous artwork, doodads, ephemera, inclusions, inspiration, meticulous displays and lovingly detailed decor. It took my breath away because I immediately understood--and felt--the passion that went into the shop. And I haven't felt that in so very, very long. I hadn't seen that in myself in ages. The potential...not even possible.

I'd been carrying a iced quad espresso and felt the immediate need to set it down lest it drip condensation on any of the papers and ruin something. I would have been devastated had I done that! I spent quite some time looking at nearly every inch of the store. I even had a chance to strike up a conversation with one of the owners (two talented sisters whose art graces the walls and shelves).

I didn't really want to leave the shop. I wanted to plant my ass on the colorful chair and paint and play and cut and paste and hang out all day long. I wanted to rummage through the supply cupboards, peek behind the doorway curtain. I wanted to create. In a soulful way. In a personal, connected to my spirit, touching and living in the world kind of way.

But I did leave. And I stayed longer in Madison. Took my time. Enjoyed the day. Daydreamed. Planned art projects. Took voice memos. Thought about what I'd do in my studio at home. Thought about what I might do with my life. All because of that little shop, Anthology.

Flash forward. Yesterday morning. Going through my receipts from Monday, I found the slips from Anthology and decided to check out the store's new blog, where I read a post from Monday about how just one person made a difference. And then I realized that person was me.

THAT was ME.

Laura's words brought tears to my eyes. I knew for myself what the store visit meant. But I had no idea what my presence could have possible meant to her. None. If asked, I would have thought I probably came across as a weirdo cheapskate who loitered way too long.

Who hasn't heard that weary old adage about how just one person can make a blah, blah, blah? Sometimes people even tell us...but it's about things to be expected. Teachers, mentors, bosses, etc. How often, though, do we ever find out how we affect complete strangers? Do we? Can we?

I printed out Laura's post. I need the reminder of how my life impacts others. Not just how my life is impacted. Our purpose is common. And gifted with that revelation, I feel that I've been given a sense of self that some people may wait an entire life time to see.

My words simply don't do justice to the entire experience. But it was wonderful. Both the visit and the accidental blog find. I look forward to visiting Anthology again and chatting with Laura, maybe meeting her sister and her adorable niece. And if you're ever in Madison and stop in, tell them Jen from Milwaukee sent you. I dare you to look behind the curtain.

And on the fourth day she said...

Even though I never anticipated this is where I'd be in my life at this point, doesn't mean I wasn't meant to get here.

I've now been off of work, save a couple weeks around Christmas, for seven months. More than half a year. Go read my archive from a year ago. I didn't see this coming. Not like this.

I don't doubt, however, that is the right path. Not the fun path. Not the rich path. Not the party like a rock star path. It would be sweet if it could be the fun, rich, rock star path. But I'd take right over wrong any day.

I never expected I'd have to work so hard at drawing my own damn map to find my way around.

Enough waxing philosophical.

I got a new scale. The old one is in the garbage. The new one has me at a new low that I know is not a good low. I started charting my food intact again yesterday. Part of me wants that number to go down, but more of me knows that I'm only losing muscle and brain tissue, not fat. The parts of me that I don't like, don't change when the weight does.

I realized yesterday that I've had some really great small successes these last few months. I'm more comfortable buying food I enjoy and not feeling guilty. Yesterday, I bought English muffins AND a loaf of bread. Ha! I also put a pack of regular sugar in my coffee drink. And I got dressed without looking in the mirror or even thinking about it.

Ok. I'm done.

Waking Up

I got my great scale back from my friend...the scale that has four different "people" you can program for body fat and water composition and weight...and the damn thing doesn't work. I'm sure her kid used it for some creative adventure and this is the universe's way of paying me back for being so damn excited. Sure Jen, you can have your scale. You're a big girl now. You can have it all to yourself. Unsupervised. It just won't work. No matter how many times you change the batteries, reprogram it and tap the center.

I'm on day two of less drugs. Yes, I am playing doctor. Not completely unsupervised and not without the blessing of nearly everyone who has personal contact with me during the last week. I downed the fluoxetine dose. Cut out the clonazepam. Nixed the trazedone. I'm not going to touch the topamax since it's actually doing what the doctor said it would do for me and my body could use a break from the B/P right now. So for the first day in many, I actually feel awake and able to operate heavy machinery. Not that I could afford to.

I have no plans for this long weekend in my long break. Pulling stuff for a rummage sale in June. I need money and have to sell a 17" Dell laptop, an Everett console piano, a 1C diamond ring, so I'll probably do a little surfing on craigslists for competitive pricing. I'd be so lucky if one person wrote me a check for all three items.

Cheetos

I have no appetite. And it's on purpose. My psych (the one who is about to be dismissed) has me on 100 mg of Topamax a day to treat my urges to binge and purge (both food and alcohol.) It's working. I don't want to drink. I don't want to binge. I don't want to puke. And I sure as hell do not want to eat. Anything. Nothing sounds good; few things taste good.

But yesterday Cheetos seemed palatable. I bought a bag. And they were good. I ate them guilt free. No purging. I considered another bag today, but they don't hold the allure. So I'm stuck. I had a tiny container of yogurt for breakfast. A scone for lunch. Dried fruit this afternoon with pringle sticks. I can't think of one kind of protein that I could possibly stomach. Yep, I'm going to lose weight. And that's not the point.

With no nourishment in me, I am not thinking clearly. I am thinking like I did when I was eating 600 calories a day. Because I am. I think I need to get some protein shakes.

A special thanks to...

...the jackass who smashed my car window and stole my gps last night downtown Milwaukee. I'd like to especially extend my appreciation for requiring me to focus on bullshit technicalities and bureaucratic red tape when I'd rather be toasty warm in the fog of my forgetfulness. Oh, and that slap of reality? Thanks. Thanks so much for bringing me back to my senses on how much out of pocket expenses this effin' new car has cost me since purchase in December. Potholes. Mirrors. Windows. Everything is just not quite enough for the deductible. WTF.

I hope you low-life gangstas enjoy that shittin' TomTom as you cruise through your ghetto alleys. I'm sure it'll come in handy finding your next score. Better yet, just click home and come get me. Now wouldn't that be the icing the karmic cake of this week? I'll leave the back door unlocked.

Really. I write in jest. If they ever read this blog and really did find me, I'd call Fox 6 news, stand in the middle of the street, pee my pants and then pledge my vote for John McCain.

Absurd.

Weekend wrap up

I have appointments in July with new a new doctor to take a look at my meds and am on his waiting list to get in earlier...thanks to my therapist who did all the arranging. I couldn't bear another phone call.

Good things this week: back on a regular schedule with my personal trainer; called the outplacement service through work to set up an initial consultation; got the ball rolling on securing some extra funds to support my "early retirement"; put all my delinquent bills in one big, scary pile; had a marvelous visit with a dear friend from college, my Jeffy-poo-poo; had coffee with girls from work; stayed sober for 5 out of 7 days.

Bad things this week: not going there.

Thanks for the emails and the phone calls. I'm not really up to writing or chatting. My meds have me a little dopey as I get used to the changing dosages and I'm not feeling all that social. So forgive me for not writing or calling. I'm here. Just quiet. Finger painting. Contemplating. Healing.

How it is

I bought a push reel lawn mower, assembled it myself and cut the lawn yesterday.
I started a database for my congregation.
I crocheted 5 rows on my meditation shawl.
I purged only once. That was yesterday.

Today I woke up and realized that I may not find a psychiatrist willing or able to help me get the chemical mixes right for my brain. I have to figure a way out of this fog myself. I cannot live another day like this. This is not the life I want.

So today I crocheted 5 more rows on my meditation shawl.
I painted a picture with finger paints and told myself: do not be afraid.
And even though I was, I painted through the mistakes and was amazed at the result.

My scalp still aches. I'm tired to the bone. I really would like to curl up on the couch and float away into my head. But I'm not going to. No one is going to rescue me from this but myself.

Standing up. Walking forward.

The Weekend Plan: Complete

Far from perfect, but complete. I met all social obligations. I am free until Tuesday at 3:15.

As promised to a really cool kid, Jessa, at yesterday's gathering, I purposefully turned on a basketball game so that I can become an educated sports spectator. I can't wait to call her with details from the Lakers/Jazz game. I'm going for the Lakers. Long story. But a girl's gotta start somewhere.

Signing off. I'm outta here.

The Weekend Plan

I've committed myself to several things this weekend and they will require my clear-headed attention and presence. And I can't back out of them. Nor should I. I've just got to figure out a safe plan to get from point A to point B in one sober, non-purgative (is that a word?), functioning state of being despite a raging organic depression and the painful awareness that it remains untreated by the handfuls of drugs Mr. Dr. has me on.

Sigh.

My hope (see, I still have hope) is to be able to fire Mr. Dr. by Wednesday and hire Mr. Dr. II who will at least converse directly with my therapist and not assume that all things evil in my psyche are rooted in an eating disorder.

This morning: shower, brush teeth, dress, serve yogurt to the women's group. Do not purge. Do not stop at liquor store on the way home.

This afternoon: get a new cell phone. Buy a dessert for evening function. Do not purge. Do not stop at liquor store on the way home.

This evening: deliver dessert, give inspiring speech to young people of faith.. Do not purge. Do not stop at liquor store on the way home.

Tomorrow morning: shower, brush teeth, dress, perform official duties for young people of faith. Do not purge. Do not stop at liquor store on the way home. Crash. Mission completed.

Now that's not so bad, is it? I can do that, right?

Bad Sign

Even coffee doesn't taste good to me. How sad is that?

How to top that?

So I've learned, sleep is not a unifying factor in my mind-body connection.

I'm loosing track of days. My med changes are screwing with my head. I'm sick of affirmations and meditations and spirtuality and wholistic blah-blah-blah.

I want to watch the Criminal Investigations Network whenever I'm not sleeping. And I don't even care when I wake to find black ants crawling on my legs. (However, I don't want them in the cats' food, so I will be calling a bug person soon.)

Today I didn't drink. And I didn't purge. But don't start clapping yet. I ate like a friggin' pig and punished myself by wallowing in the discomfort and distended stomach. Fat pants for me. I probably ate over 5,000 calories today. Slowly but surely. Even with a pouch, it can be done.

Tomorrow I'm sure I won't be eating. I'll need to make up for today somehow. I need to make up for every day, don't I? That's what I need to get over.

Post #440

Yesterday my body and my mind finally caught up with each other. Or at least are within reasonable light years distance now. I slept nearly all afternoon, through the evening and through the night. I can't say I feel refreshed, but I do feel like I'm pretty much present in the same time zone.

Someone asked me yesterday why I am so ambivalent. It shocked me. I respect this person immensely and her opinion matters greatly to me. so when she posed the question, I knew she didn't ask it lightly, that there was truth in her words. I must have looked perplexed, because she explained for me how my actions and words do seem ambivalent.

I've rarely thought of myself as ambivalent. Decisive, yes. Determined, yes. But ambivalent? Nope. Now, though, it seems to make sense. It explains the two steps forward, one step back pattern of recovery I'm in, which really is just a microcosm of the life I've led. Why am I so decisive on the outside and uncertain on the inside? Maybe the why is inconsequential. HOW am I going to change it?

I received a daily affirmation in my email this morning. In part, it reads:

I have a mission. I have a spiritual mandate, and this is to bring the best of myself, my thoughts and my actions as my gifts to life.

Whoa. Tall order. But so, so, so very true. What gift do I offer with self-loathing or hate? What purpose is there in destructive behaviors like binging, purging? How is it to my or any one's higher good when I escape through food or drinking?

Maybe what the message I was being given yesterday was as simple as what my grandpa has been saying for years: piss or get off the pot.